


Dean Loves the Boy Next Door More Than He Should.

by A_Maenad_Called_Rex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Domestic Boyfriends, Fluff and Smut, I know nothing about mechanics, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Older Dean Winchester, Pervert Dean, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-24 06:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21095036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Maenad_Called_Rex/pseuds/A_Maenad_Called_Rex
Summary: Dean's not a pervert. Well, he wasn't. Oh god, Dean and I are going to hell for this. :) I'll see y'all there.My head was going bad places in math class, so enjoy your healthy dosage of fluff, smut, and sweet little Sammy that I dreamed up while I was supposed to be adding fractions.





	1. "Can I mow your lawn?"

**Author's Note:**

> Warning:  
Dean is an adult in this fic, Sam is not, and therefore, cannot consent. In the real world, this is rape, no matter what. I do not want anybody to think I condone Dean's actions. I don't. However, this is a piece of fiction, and therefore, I can do what I want. They are in love, and Sam can consent because I said so. If you don't like this, please, find something else to read.

"Fuuuck." A groan of pain escaped the lump of blankets. Larry, the chameleon, spared the lump a glance, then went back to sunbathing on his rock. Humans and their profanities aren't really a main priority for chameleons, as you might imagine.

After a few long minutes of frustrated grunting, Dean managed to untangle himself from his covers, and half-jump half-fall out of bed. His knee cracked and his back popped in like 5 places, and he was too young for this bullshit. He needed coffee before he could deal with all this "old" shit. Coffee, yeah, good idea. 

He stood in the dining room, nursing his first 'Employee of the Year' mug. Mugs 2-7 are sitting in his cabinet still. He's popular at work. The morning sun is shining in Dean's eyes, but he hasn't finished his coffee yet, and can't be bothered to move.

Larry must have noticed he's up, because he's complaining. Little sighs that are more expressive than Dean thinks they should be considering Larry is a reptile. Dean finishes his coffee, and has a staring contest with his pet chameleon. He thinks to himself, "Oh God, this is why I'm single, I snore, and I'm too attached to my pet Chameleon named Larry." He dumps some crickets in the terrarium for Larry to hunt, and goes to hunt down some breakfast of his own.

***

He’s in the garage underneath a ‘68 Riviera, when he hears a timid knock on the big metal door, a couple of tools clunk to the ground, and some quiet swearing. He’s expecting Mrs. Avery from down the street, bringing him oatmeal cookies as an excuse to watch him sweat again, or maybe those Jesus-club kids who are always passing out pamphlets and flyers like they actually expect somebody to read ‘em. Instead, he rolls out on his creeper, and immediately hits his head on the turquoise door of the car. 

Samuel Tristan West is standing in his garage. Sam, and his eyes and lips and fucking innocent smile, is the reason Dean is going to hell. Dean’s never seriously thought about hooking up with anybody who has a dick. He’s looked sure, appreciated broad shoulders and tanned forearms, but never actually considered it. He’s certainly never thought of hooking up with a boy. That’s what sweet Sammy is, shy and lanky, not yet grown into himself. Dean’s never looked, never appreciated anybody who doesn’t even have a drinking permit before. He’s turned down girls before, after he found out it was only their first year in college. They were legal, but they were vulnerable, and Dean didn’t like controlling or taking advantage of his partners. Besides, experience is sexy. This was, of course, before he saw sweet, young, vulnerable Sam. he had never wanted anything more in his life. He had never hated himself more either.

Sam is bent over picking up the tools he knocked over, but when Dean slams his head against the car in shock, he rushes over. 

“Are you okay, Mr. Winchester?” 

Dean hates when people call him that, but he’s going to fantasize about it said in Sammy’s voice for ages. He needs to find out why the kid he’s been perving on all summer is in his garage. 

“Why are you in my garage?”

Sam backs up, like it was an accusation. His hands, which were reaching out to touch Dean’s forehead, get shoved back into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Um, well, if you’re not busy, I mean, I know you’re busy, fixing this car up, obviously, but what I meant was, if you had a minute-” 

Dean is amused and turned on at the same time and it’s confusing as hell.

“Breathe, kid.” He takes a few exaggerated breaths to demonstrate; afterall, it seems like Sammy’s forgotten how. “This is the only thing I’ve got goin’ on this week, and she can wait a few minutes,” he offers Sam a smile that hopefully looks confident, “What can I do for you?”

“Can I mow your lawn?”

Dean’s not sure what he was expecting, but that wasn’t it. Dean knows the next question he asks is stupid, but the hottest person on earth is standing in his garage right now, so excuse him if his brain is a bit foggy right now. 

“Why?”

“Uh, because I need money.”

There are about a million ways Sam can earn money from Dean flashing through his head right now, but none of them are in the ballpark of appropriateness, so instead he says, “Oh”, like a genius. 

They stare at each other for what Dean estimates to be around three minutes before he remembers he’s s’posed to be answering a question.

“Yeah, you can mow my lawn.”

“Cool,” Sam says. Sam walks out of the garage and into the house next door. 

“Fuuuck,” Dean says. He goes inside to complain to Larry about Sammy West’s lips.


	2. Trip to the Hardware Store

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean buys Sam ice cream, and in return, Sam shows him his ankles. Basically, Dean is thirsty AF for Sammy, but then again, we all know that. ;)

Dean is not prepared. He didn’t get any sleep last night (brain was too busy thinking of baby smooth, soft skin for that), and now the doorbell is ringing, and that’s Sam -gotta be- and Dean’s just not prepared dammit. He looks to Larry for emotional support. Larry sighs and munches down on a grasshopper. Dean decides he needs to find better friends, or you know, just non-reptilian friends in general.

He opens the door, and just how not prepared he is hits him one more time. Sam West is in his doorway. He stands absolutely still for a moment, but then his brain reminds him that staring like this is something weirdos do, and he’s not a weirdo, so he moves aside to let Sam come in. Sam looks down to Dean’s feet, which are currently wearing ankle socks with the batman logo on them, and then bends down to unlace his sneakers and put them on the mat just inside the door. Dean is self-conscious of his socks for a moment, but then his brain reminds him that he’s a grown man and he can wear whatever socks he wants.

Dean’s not really sure what to do next, and his brain isn’t helping. It’s just stuck on a loop now: _‘Wow, he has really nice ankles. Is that weird? Fuck it, I don’t care, he has nice ankles.’ _Luckily Sam saves him.

“Can you show me where your mower is?”

Dean gets about halfway through the word, “Sure”.

“Sur-”

Fuuuck. This is, of course, the exact moment Dean realizes he doesn’t actually own a lawnmower. He wonders what his face looks like. He just moved in last winter, he was kind of a nomad for forever before that. He's never had a lawn to mow, and it hasn't crossed his mind since he's been here. Why would it when he had better things to do, like ogle teenage boys who live next door.

“Um, I don’t have one.”

“One what?”

“A mower.”

“You don’t own a mower?”

“Nope.”

“Um, should I… go?”

“No!” Dean really doesn’t mean to say it so forcefully. So much for not being a weirdo. Sam looks just as confused as Dean feels.

“What should I do then?”

Hell if Dean knows, but his mouth just won't stop moving.

“Let’s go buy one.”

“You want to go buy a lawnmower?” Sam's voice is incredulous and slow like he's measuring the words as he says them. Dean doesn't let it faze him on the outside.

“Yup, it’s about time, don’t you think. Gotta mow the lawn eventually.”

Dean turns around and grabs his key ring off of the lightsaber his Darth Vader action figure is wielding, and then marches out the door and climbs into the Impala without looking back. There are a few seconds where he starts to wonder if Sam will just go home after all, but then he’s getting in the car too. Sam pulls out his phone.

“Hey, mom. I just wanted to let you know Mr. Winchester and I are running some errands, so I won’t be home for a while. Yeah, love you too. Bye.”

Dean is really glad Sam’s brain is functioning because he didn’t even think twice about putting this kid in his car and driving away. He doubts anyone’s first assumption would be, “Oh, of course, that old man is just taking the kid to the hardware store to buy a lawnmower.”

***

Dean’s not prepared for the variety of lawnmowers. So many options. He doesn’t know anything about lawnmowers. Hell, he’s never even owned a lawnmower.

“I’ve never even owned a lawnmower,” he says. Sam looks up at him with his goddamn hazel eyes. Dean is in love.

“Get the green one.”

Dean is lost in the swirling irises and colors he’s never seen before and specks of golden sunshine in this boy’s eyes.

“What?”

“The green one, it’s the best, and it’s affordable too.” Dean blinks a few times, then forcefully tears himself away from green eyes to glance at a mower instead. He buys the green one.

On the ride home, they pass this retro ice cream joint, and Dean feels this intense urge to watch Sammy eat some ice cream.

“Ice cream?”

“Always.”

***

Dean doesn't know why he tortures himself like this. Then again he deserves it, it's his punishment for being such a fucking perve. Sam is sitting in Dean’s garage, happily licking a mint-choc-chip cone, while Dean curses at a bunch of lawnmower parts. He’s a mechanic for god’s sake, this is s'posed to be easy as pie for him. But, he supposes, that’s when he’s not distracted by the way a drop of ice cream escapes Sam’s mouth and runs down his chin. By the way Sam’s delicate fingers brush that stupid hair behind his ear. By the sweet noises he makes in appreciation of the treat. Dean has to mentally remind himself, _“Not a weirdo, not a weirdo, not a weirdo. For fuck's sake, stop being such a weirdo.” _

Sam’s done with the ice cream now. He eats the waffle cone in two huge bites, and Dean’s eyes are drawn like a magnet to metal to his throat when he swallows. Then the kid fucking licks his fingers clean, and if Dean’s new doctor didn’t tell him his heart was fine last fall, he would be concerned about having a coronary right here in his own garage.

“Do you want some help, Mr. Winchester?”

_God, yes._ “No, that’s alright, I’ve almost got it.”

Dean doesn’t almost got it. It takes him another ten minutes to figure out the lawnmower, but Sam doesn’t ask again, just sits real patient-like and swings his feet back and forth. Kid’s been growing like a weed and he’s fourteen, but he’s perched on top of two of Dean’s toolboxes stacked on top of each other, so his feet don’t even touch the floor. While Dean is filling up the mower with gas, he can’t get the image of those legs wrapped around him, feet digging into his back, out of his head.

Once it’s filled up, Dean straightens out his back and winces when it audibly clicks. Sam hops down and maneuvers the mower out into the yard. Well alright then. Right to it. Dean needs to cool down, but it’s 2:30 in the afternoon and taking a shower right now could be classified as weirdo behavior, so he goes inside to make some lemonade instead. When he comes out with the lemonade, Sam’s already got a third of the yard done; granted, Dean doesn’t have a huge yard, but he admires how hard the kid’s working. And then he lets himself take a moment to admire the sweat blossoming on Sam’s skin too. He really wants to go lick it up. But, that’s exactly what a weirdo would do, so Dean offers him some lemonade instead.

After they’ve both had two glasses, Dean doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t know the proper etiquette for this situation. Is he supposed to stand here and watch? Is he supposed to go inside and wait for Sam to be done? Is he supposed to be helping somehow, maybe making sure there’s no sticks or rocks in the yard to fuck up the blades?

By the time he decides waiting inside is probably his best bet, Sam’s already done, and he realizes he’s been standing in the middle of his yard holding two empty glasses for way too long now, and Sam has just mowed around him, leaving a small circle of grass longer than the rest. Sam turns the mower off and looks at him. Dean moves two feet to his left. Sam mows the circle and then returns the machine to the garage. Sam comes back and looks at him. Dean looks back, then remembers, he’s supposed to give Sam money. He goes inside for his wallet.

“Uh, how much?”

“Does ten bucks sound fair?” Dean hands him a ten and tries not to suck in too much air when their fingers brush.

“Have a good day, Mr. Winchester! I’ll see you next week?” Sam’s already trotting back to his house, looking over his shoulder as he asks.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Sweet. And, uh, thanks for the ice cream!” Sam’s voice cracks around the last part. There’s no one around to judge Dean for taking a cold shower in the early afternoon, and he definitely needs it now, so he goes inside to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are everything I need in this life. Validate me, no one else is going to do it. Also, how do y'all feel about a chapter from Sam's point of view? I don't relate to Sam and so kind of struggle with his voice, but I'd try if you want. PS. I love all you fuckers to bits. Have a nice fucking day! ♥♥♥


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